


Without Fear 4

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: Without Fear series by Scala [4]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of confusion, things finally begin to look up for both Jim and Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Fear 4

## Without Fear 4

by Scala

The Disclaimers - weren't they a pop group from like, the fifties?

As always, mucho thankyous to the inimitable Kaye. And a huge apology to all those people who have emailed me with their agony at having to wait for each part. Sorry - but I'm posting as fast as I can <g>.

This is Part 4, which follows Part 3 etc. Please read the preceding parts or this won't make any sense at all - especially now.  
Warnings: The Angst-Fest continues. 

This story is a sequel to: Without Fear 3 

* * *

Without Fear Part 4 

January 

The party was in full swing by the time Jim arrived. He was greeted with cheers, both drunken and otherwise as he made his way inside, an inevitable grin across his face. The music was loud, but he avoided the worst of it in bypassing the living room and going straight to the kitchen were, to his surprise, he found Sally ordering a host of serving staff around as though she were a queen ruling her empire. 

He gave her a smile and a hug, asked her if there was anything he could do, but she told him to go enjoy himself, and to please find his father and make sure the noise hadn't tipped him over the edge into senility. The very thought made him laugh, so he left his packages and went in search of his father. 

A marquee had been erected in the back garden, just as full of people as the rest of the house. Fairy lights were strung from every available hanging spot, tables set up, covered in white cloths and sparkling glasses. All around the perimeter were small iron braziers, burning brightly to ward off the winter cold. Contained within the marquee, they were doing a good job. There was music provided by a jazz band, and Jim could see the small dance floor crammed with couples; Simon's head peeking out above them all. Smiling again, Jim headed down the stairs, his gaze searching for his father. 

He found him at the table furthest from the band, deep in conversation with two men Jim recognized from his father's business - but the moment William caught sight of him, he got to his feet and, in a gesture entirely unlike him, gathered Jim into a warm hug. 

'Jimmy, you're here at last! We were about ready to send out a search party. What kept you so long?' 

Jim was hustled to a seat as William's two guests left them alone. A glass of champagne appeared in front of Jim and he paused in his answer long enough to take a good mouthful. It had been a long and rough day. 

'You know I had to work.' 

'Of course, but you said you'd be able to get out early.' 

'Well I would have been here earlier except we got a few new leads that needed to be followed up before morning. I'm sorry.' 

William just shook his head and gripped his shoulder hard. 'Well, you're here now and that's what's important. Have you seen your brother and that girl he's marrying? I notice _she_ didn't have to work today.' 

Jim let loose a snort of choked laughter at his father's tone. Megan had once described his father's facial expression whenever he talked to her - saying he looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon. Jim had to glance away before he could continue, knowing he'd never be able to look a lemon in the eye again. 'No, not yet. Are they inside?' 

'I have no idea, though knowing Megan she's probably in the dining room counting the silver. Jimmy, you have to help me out here. Find yourself a nice girl, get married and give me some grandchildren. You can't make me leave everything in the hands of an _Australian_. Dear God, that girl thinks Barossa wines are the best in the world!' 

Jim started laughing again, making no effort to disguise his reaction from his father. William and Megan had met under the worst circumstances, and had subsequently made absolutely no effort to make amends over the intervening months. To all outward appearances, William looked down on his future daughter-in-law and Megan saw her fianc's father as a misogynistic buffoon. But it didn't take too much examination to discover that in reality, they actually rather liked each other, and the disparaging comments - coming from both of them - were more of a game they both enjoyed playing. Both Jim and Steven had similarly enjoyed sitting back and watching the verbal fencing matches on more than one occasion. 

But for all his dry complaints, it was obvious William was energized by the approaching changes in his family. He'd often voiced his desire to have grandchildren, even admitting quietly to Jim that he hoped he'd learned enough over the years to be a better grandfather than he'd ever been a father. It had actually been the admission even more than the sentiment that had been the turning point in his relationship with his father. At last it seemed they were finally on the same page, after the last couple of years of concerted struggle. It felt good, and it felt right, and he could concede both those points and still credit Blair with having brought him to the place where he would _allow_ that change to happen. 

'You didn't drive did you?' William was asking over the noise of the band. 

'Yeah, but I thought I might stay over, if that's okay?' 

William's beaming smile was his reward. 'Sure it is, Jimmy. We'll have breakfast together.' 

Jim nodded and got to his feet. 'I better go and find my brother while he can still stand.' He went to turn, then paused. 'Dad, if your up to it tomorrow, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. It's important.' 

William's gaze narrowed, 'Is everything okay? It's not about Blair is it?' 

Jim could only shrugged. 'Not really, no. I just need to talk to both you and Steven. It's ... I guess it's time, that's all.' 

William squeezed his arm and nodded. 'Sure thing, Jimmy. The caterers will clean up everything tonight before they leave and the guys won't be here until Monday to take down the marquee - so we've got the whole day free. As soon as I'm compos mentis, I'm yours.' 

'Great.' Jim nodded, forcing himself to admit that he was relieved. 'I'll go find Steven and Megan.' 

'Well, you can't miss Megan. She's wearing the most god-awful shade of pink you've ever seen!' 

Laughing again, Jim made his way through the crowds and back into the house. He stood at the edge of the living room for a moment, before he caught sight of Steven dancing with Megan. The two of them looked like a pair of teenagers. He was standing there grinning at them when they saw him and squeezed through the morass to reach him. 

He gave his brother a hug and then relented and gave Megan a kiss on the cheek and a hug to match. Truth was, he was very happy for them. 

'Hey, Bro, glad you could finally make it!' 

'I thought you'd be here hours ago,' Megan began, abruptly all business. 'You said Deaking was going nowhere tonight. What happened?' 

Jim shrugged, 'His secretary happened. Her body turned up in a ditch in the eastside construction site.' 

'You get anything from her body?' 

'No, and a search of her apartment turned up nothing, but we called in to see her mother, and it turns out her daughter had sent her a big fat envelope of copied company documents, as an insurance policy. We've got experts going over them at the moment, but I got enough from them to convict Deaking ten times over.' 

Megan grinned, 'That's great! Tell me you did all the paperwork?' 

'Um...' Jim shoved his hands into his pockets. They'd done a trade off. He worked solo today and she worked tomorrow - though admittedly on the afternoon shift. 

Megan punched his arm. 'Damn you, Ellison! You got spoiled with Sandy doing all your paperwork for you. I told you before I'm not your secretary.' 

'Yeah yeah, Connor,' Jim slipped easily back into their familiar routine. 'And you're always bitching at me that I leave you out of stuff - so I thought you'd _want_ to help with the cleanup. Besides, if I hadn't left it for you, I'd still be there - and what kind of brother would that make me, missing Steven's engagement party.' 

'A kind, caring, selfless one?' Megan batted her eyelids, making Steven laugh. 

'Okay, Jim, that's enough. You're both off-duty now so no more shop-talk. Let me get you a drink.' 

'I'll get it,' Megan gave Steven a brief kiss and headed off to the bar. 

'Now,' Steven began, drawing Jim to one side. 'I have a number of viable prospects for you. All I ask is that you dance with each of them at least once.' 

'Jesus, Steven, I told you I hate matchmaking.' 

'Look, just trust me, okay? None of them are criminals, pathological liars or murderers - so I doubt you'll actually fall in love with them. But I figure, they're all attractive, single and think you're cute - so cut loose a little, Bro, get yourself laid even. Do you the world of good!' 

Jim burst out laughing and shook his head. Megan returned long enough to hand him his drink before she got dragged back onto the dance floor by Rafe. Jim took the moment to turn back to his brother. 

'Dad said you're staying tonight as well?' 

'Yeah. Figured I wouldn't be in much shape to go heading home tonight. I'm expecting my big brother to pour me into my bed if necessary.' 

'Well, I _have_ been practicing my fireman's lift,' Jim replied deadpan. He enjoyed watching Steven's face fall before he added more seriously. 'If you've got the time, tomorrow I'd like to talk to you and Dad about something.' 

Steven's eyebrows rose and he paused to simply study Jim. For a moment, Jim thought he might say something, or ask a question, but obviously decided it was best to wait until the next day. Steven nodded. 'Sure, I'll be there.' 

'Great.' 

'Now,' Steven took his elbow and turned back to the clump of dancing figures squeezing the life out of the living room. 'Over there, the blonde in the light blue top? That's Lainie. She's an engineer with the kind of legs a man doesn't forget in a hurry. She's been dying to meet you.' 

Jim tried to struggle, but gave up after a moment, knowing full well that in this mood, Steven would not be swayed. Besides, the girl was very pretty and smiled at him with the kind of promise a man didn't forget in a hurry. So he let himself be drawn into the celebration and did his best to simply not think about what would happen the following day. 

* * *

Jim woke early. He hadn't planned to, but some part of him knew he'd never really had a choice. He didn't get up immediately, instead simply laid in bed looking around the room he had grown up in. It had changed of course. His father had spent months going through all their old stuff, packing up most of his childhood things into boxes which now sat in the attic. Then he'd had both his and Steven's rooms redecorated, making the occasional sleepover a little more relaxed and less tainted with older, badder memories. 

His father had changed so much over the last few years - but he question remained, had he changed enough? Had Steven? 

For that matter, had Jim? 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains and danced across the bedroom floor, awakening all kinds of memories he'd only been peripherally aware of. The day he'd brought Blair here, to show him his old home, to try to explain some of the problems with his father. And another memory, entirely unrelated, of his fingers running through Blair's hair as he pulled the young man close enough to kiss him. 

There'd always been so much between them. So many things impossible to identify at the time. And yet, subconsciously, he'd been glued to the habits they'd formed together, the casual constant touches, standing so close together they shared body heat, the easy conversation, the rare arguments, the peacemaking. So much that filled three and a half years with more highlights than anything else. 

And today marked ten months since Blair had disappeared from his life. Blair had called Joel twice in that time, leaving virtually no information Jim could use. Sure, he'd put out feelers, done more than one trace on both the Volvo and Blair's credit cards, hoping to get at least some idea of what part of the country Blair was in - but all attempts had failed. The Volvo had been sold long ago, the credit accounts cancelled by Blair not long after he'd left. He'd even lost contact with Naomi, no longer able to put in a call to see if she'd heard from her son. Jim could only comfort himself with the knowledge that Blair hadn't been arrested, nor had his body turned up anywhere. Those two facts alone were all he had to hold onto. 

That and the ever failing hope that somehow, one day Blair would find a way back. 

He closed his eyes a moment, and breathed deeply, performing the tiny ritual he always gave on this day of the month. He let himself go back, to that night they'd slept together, the night he'd ruined everything with his fear-based responses. He went back to the moments before then, to where they laid together, held each other, and simply kissed. Using everything he'd ever learned from Blair about sense-memory, he brought forth the taste of his partner, the feel of him, the scent, and raised his own hands to brush over his face, touch his lips and simply _feel_ the love glowing in Blair's eyes. 

It brought tears to his own and he gulped in air to sweep them away. He sat up, opened his eyes and shook his head. Time didn't heal _all_ wounds. Some it just made worse. 

But sitting here brooding over it wasn't going to get him further down that path. So he got up and headed to the shower, listening out for sounds of movement from the rest of the house. He was in the kitchen fixing coffee when he heard Megan leave, her shoes clattering on the entrance hall floor as she let herself out and went to work. Jim waited a moment, then headed out to the street in time to see her drive away. Then he made his way to the truck. 

He opened the driver's door and reached under the seat to unlock the steel box he'd had installed a couple of year before. Normally, he kept his gun in there when he needed to. Right now however, it also held something infinitely more important. 

He collected the package and headed back inside. He left it lying on the kitchen table while he searched through pantry and fridge for breakfast options. 

He had bacon and eggs cooking, and a second pot of coffee brewing by the time his brother stumbled downstairs, looking a lot older than the average teenager. 

'Why is it we can't just do away with the morning after?' Steven said, falling into a chair as Jim sat coffee and juice on the table in front of him. 'I mean, is it really, absolutely necessary?' 

'Yep, sure is.' 

'That's not the answer I wanted.' 

'That's the only answer I have.' 

'Answer to what?' William entered the kitchen then, showered, dressed and looking none the worse for the many glasses of Australian wine he'd consumed the night before. 'Oh, Jimmy, this looks good. I'm starved.' 

Jim put plates of food down in front of them all, then sat and picked up his fork. Steven drained his juice, swallowed aspirin and sipped his coffee, staring at his plate as though it were a cobra rising to bite him. William on the other hand, tucked in with a vengeance, only pausing when his plate was half empty to gesture at the package Jim had left on the side. 

'This what you wanted to talk to us about?' 

'Yep,' Jim nodded, cleaning up his plate with a final flourish of toast. 

'What is it?' 

Jim got to his feet and took his plate to the sink, returning to refill their coffee cups. 'It's something I want you both to read. Today.' 

'What?' Steven, his chin resting on his hand, turned his head to stare at Jim, horrified that he had to do something that required so much concentration. 'Why today?' 

'Because there's only one copy in existence, and I have to return it to the bank tomorrow.' 

'Bank?' William frowned, sitting back. 'What's this about, Jimmy?' 

Jim didn't sit down again, but instead, leaned back against the counter, folding his arms. 'It's about me. About my life. I guess you could say it's about things we all tried to hide, things we were afraid of. So I want you to read it and hopefully understand. I need you to ... accept.' 

Both brother and father stared at him in silence, unmoving as his little speech sank in. He let the silence stretch before adding, 'It's in loose page format, so you can pass pages to each other as you finish reading. I guess I don't need to tell you you can't ever talk to anyone about it.' 

'About what?' William asked, as though he knew but didn't want to assume. 

Jim picked up the package, unwrapped it and placed it back on the table in front of them, title page turned so they could read. 'It's Sandburg's thesis. It's about my life as a sentinel.' 

* * *

Jim got back from the deli just after four. Armed with fresh rolls, coleslaw and Hungarian sausage, he made his way into the kitchen to find his father hunched over the table, a few remaining pages sitting there in front of him. 

'Where's Steven?' he asked, putting his grocery bags down. 

'He just went upstairs to grab a sweater.' 

'He finished reading?' 

'A few moments ago.' 

Jim just nodded and set about making them a snack, pulling a bottle of leftover wine from the fridge. He put the food on the table and sat down to pick at a sandwich. He'd done his best to stay out of the way and leave them to their reading, but it was hard knowing the most difficult part of the day was still to come. 

Steven appeared moments later and with a grunt, immediately started on the food. He looked a lot better, his colour returning and his eyes no longer red and bloodshot. He didn't even shy away from the glass of wine Jim poured, though he only took a token sip. 

And then, as they finished eating, William finally turned over the last page and placed it back on the pile. He stayed where he was for a moment, then sat back, stretching his arms over his head and letting out a huge sigh. 

Jim couldn't help noticing how neither man would look him in the eye - and it was all he could do to stop his heart sinking. Could anyone read that book and still not understand what had happened? 

William rose from the table and headed to the fridge, pouring himself a glass of milk which he stood at the sink and drank down before rinsing the glass out. He stayed there for a moment, gazing out the window, his stance tense and unmoving. 

Jim looked over to Steven to find his brother watching him. 

'So,' Steven began levelly. 'I guess a whole lot of things make sense now. No pun intended.' 

Saying nothing, Jim just waited. 

'I mean,' Steven continued, 'not just that whole thing with the press conference, but before then, with that case at the race-track. I mean, I had my suspicions, but it's nice to have them confirmed. I guess though, I'm a little hurt that it's taken you this long to tell me.' 

'I'm sorry for that,' Jim responded, wanting to deal with the simplest things first. 'But even back then, I was still struggling to really come to grips with my gift. Not so much the technicalities of it, but the existence of it. For so long, I went to bed every night, just wishing I could wake up the next morning and find the senses gone. It's really only been the last year or so that's made me glad I have them.' 

'So you wouldn't choose to lose them now?' 

'Nope.' 

Steven looked down at the pile of papers, frowning slightly. 'It says in there that there's a strong chance the senses are genetic.' 

'It's possible.' 

'Does that mean I could pass them on to my children?' 

'There's no guarantee, but yes, it's a possibility. Certainly something you need to take into account.' 

'But your abilities didn't manifest until you were an adult.' 

Jim didn't answer that, but instead looked to his father. William, as though he could feel Jim's gaze, turned then, glancing at both his sons. 

'No, your brother has been a sentinel all his life. He just ... learned to ... repress the ability.' The words sounded wooden as the older man crossed the kitchen and regained his seat. Jim poured him a glass of wine. 

Silence descended again. Jim held his glass between his fingers lightly, afraid the tension would make him break it if he wasn't careful. When his father finally spoke again, he almost wept with relief. 

'It's a work of genius, you know? This book. Sandburg's done an ... amazing job on it. I hope you realize that. You too, Steven. And ... what's he's taught you, Jimmy, I don't know how he did it. And without anything to guide him, really, except Burton's monograph, which wasn't much to begin with. But the way he's studied you, and what you can do, and how you use your abilities now - well, it's nothing short of amazing. And I guess I'm ...' 

As William's voice trailed off, Jim sat forward a little, 'You're what?' 

William finally looked up then, meeting his gaze, 'I'm humbled, I suppose. He had so much faith in you. He worked so hard to help you - and then he gave it all up, sacrificed everything he believed in so you could lead a normal life. Sure, I'm humbled. I wish... well, I wish I'd known while he was still here. I'd liked to have thanked him.' 

Jim's eyes abruptly stung and he got to his feet quickly to hide it. Making work for himself, he began to load things into the dishwasher, put the food away, and another pot of coffee on. He used the time to gather himself together, readying himself for the last, final step. By the time he was done, he was as prepared as he could be, and returned to the table with fresh cups of coffee and cookies he'd picked up while he was out. 

As he took his seat, Steven sat back holding his mug between both hands, watching Jim speculatively. 'There's something else, isn't there? Something else you wanted to talk about?' 

'Yeah, there was.' Jim nodded. 'I guess I've been trying to find a way to say it, to make it easier to hear, but I'm damned if I can. So, I guess I'll just come out and say it.' 

He looked up then, finding two sets of eyes on him. He lifted his jaw and continued, 'It's also about me, about what I am, about what I need you to accept. It's taken me a while to accept it myself and while I can deal with your rejection, I'd rather not have to if I can help it.' 

The words dried up then, but Steven tried to fill the silence. 'This is about Blair, isn't it?' 

Jim glanced sideways at him, 'No, not really. Not directly. As I said, it's about me. About me being ... bisexual.' 

Steven's expression didn't change, but William's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He sat frozen for a moment, before placing his cup firmly back down on the table. He moved as if to speak - then stopped himself, turning away with a dark expression, fighting with his normal reactions in an obvious effort to avoid distancing his son. 

Jim was touched by the attempt, but he couldn't say anything now. It was up to them, to both of them. 

Younger, more adaptable and less bound by tradition, Steven was the one to break the ice. 'How long have you known this?' 

Jim offered a shrug, 'I guess maybe a year or so. But it crept up on me. I certainly didn't see it coming.' 

Steven glanced at his father but returned his gaze to Jim, as though deciding consciously, that it would be better if he asked all the awkward questions. Jim appreciated the thought. 

'Have you... you know, got a boyfriend?' 

'No.' 

'Have you _had_ a boyfriend?' 

'Not really.' 

'Not really? The same way this is not really about Blair?' Steven smiled a little, nodding to himself. 'That's why you wanted us to read this, because it does have everything to do with Blair. You... you and him were ...' 

'No, we weren't.' Jim stopped him from further speculation with a gesture, his voice hard and firm. 'In more ways than you can imagine, this has nothing to do with Blair at all. His involvement is only coincidental.' 

'But you have feelings for him, don't you?' This came from William, who had turned back enough only to offer his son a stern profile. 

Jim couldn't reply for a moment, then eventually nodded. 'Yes, I have feelings for him. And because neither of you want to ask but desperately need to know, I haven't had sex with a man, I certainly haven't had sex with Blair and he didn't do anything to "turn" me gay. All he did, more by accident than anything else, was help me realize that I'd been ignoring that part of myself all my life.' 

Jim sat forward then, his hand resting on the pile of papers that summed up Blair's life work. 'That's why I wanted you to read this. Because it's about me, about who I am. And so is my sexuality. All my life I've had to hide and repress, deny and pretend. It's screwed me up, and at times, nearly torn me apart. It certainly destroyed my relationships with both of you, not to mention my wife. But it was Blair that held me together. He taught me there were other choices I could make, and that the best, most courageous thing I could ever do in my life was facing up to and accepting who I was, no matter what. He gave up everything he had so I'd have the opportunity to do so. How else can I honour his sacrifice than learn to accept myself as I am?' 

William's frown deepened, 'But if you haven't ... had ... you know ... with a man, how can you _know_?' 

With something that sounded like a laugh, Jim shook his head, 'Are you sure you want me to answer that question?' 

'Well, I certainly don't,' Steven replied softly, his gaze on his father more than Jim. 'Dad, it's not the end of the world, you know. And ... well, it's not something you did wrong that made him this way.' 

'How do you know that?' 

'Because I read books, articles about studies in sexuality. I know there's been hundreds of people throughout the world who've tried for decades to prove that one thing or another defines sexuality - and nobody can determine one way or another what makes a person straight, bi or gay. It just... well, it just happens.' 

'And that's supposed to comfort me?' 

'Oh, come on, Dad-' 

But William held up his hand. He got to his feet slowly, suddenly looking a lot older than he had a few minutes ago. He didn't look at Steven however, but instead, fixed his gaze on Jim. 'Son, I understand what you're trying to do, and I know I don't look like it at the moment, but I appreciate the effort you've gone to. But you... well, you know I come from a different time, a different generation. We learned different things about ... homosexuals. It's not so easy for me to just... accept this.' He held up his hand again when Jim opened his mouth to speak. 'I'm not saying I don't believe you, or that I don't trust you. But ... you've given us a lot to think about all in one go. I'm not going to disown you or anything, I promise. I just need a little time to think about it. Can you give me that much, Jimmy?' 

His voice husky with barely suppressed emotion, Jim nodded, 'Sure I can, Dad. Thanks for, you know, taking the time.' 

William simply nodded then turned and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, Jim heard the door to the den close quietly and the sound was enough to switch the tension inside him off. He sank back with an audible sigh. 

'So, Bro,' Steven drawled after a moment. 'You got the hots for Blair.' 

'Oh, for fuck's sake,' Jim groaned, half-laughing, half wanting to strangle his brother. 'What did I just say?' 

'Actually,' Steven pushed his chair back and got to his feet. 'It was more in what you didn't say. All I really want to know is whether there was ever a chance Blair returned your feelings.' 

Jim stared at him a moment, then rose himself, cleaning up the rest of the mess they'd made before wrapping the manuscript up. 'Yeah, he did. That's kind of why he left.' 

'And why you didn't go after him.' 

Jim stopped then, suddenly unable to move. There'd been so much entangled in this day, so many expectations and hopes, so many possibilities of failure that now it was over, he tripped, and came stumbling down inside the well of his own long-buried emotions. But before he could fall, his brother came close and swept him up into a hug, thumping his back in understanding. 

'One day, Jim, when it's time, you'll go find him. I know you will. And then everything will be fine. And don't worry about Dad. I'll talk to him, give him a few books to read. Once he understands the facts, gets his head around it, he'll be fine with it. Okay, maybe not fine, but enough for him to welcome Blair back and into the family.' 

'God, I hope you're right,' Jim breathed. 'I really hope you're right.' 

* * *

April 

Blair pulled a clean t-shirt on over his head, pulled his hair back with a tie and picked up his satchel. He looked around for a moment, trying to remember where he left the apartment keys, but saw them hanging from the hook by the door - where he usually put them each night after work. The mere sight of them made him roll his eyes - even now, after so many months, he still forgot the hook was there. 

He grabbed his keys and stepped out onto the landing, pulling and locking the door behind him. The moment he moved out of the sound-proofed shelter of the manager's apartment however, a plaintive voice reached him from the bar below. 

'Blair? Boss, are you coming down anytime soon?' 

'On my way, Daisy.' He thumped down the stairs and dropped his satchel at the bottom, turning immediately to the bar and ducking behind it. The cellar trapdoor was open and a tanned face peered up at him, surrounded by a flash of long, sun bleached hair. 'What's up?' 

'Did you order more Coors? 'Cause we've only got one more box down here and it won't last beyond the next coupla days.' 

'There's supposed to be another delivery tomorrow morning, but I'll call them later and check.' 

'Cool.' Daisy stepped back and looked around the beer cellar. 'Anything else you want brought up while I'm here?' 

'I think you have everything.' Blair glanced at the pile already built on the other side of the trapdoor. 'Just make sure the soda taps are screwed on tight, and the cylinders are in their seats properly. I don't want a repeat of last time.' Last time when one of them had tipped over in the middle of Happy Hour, cut off the supply of soda to the bar and trashed the cellar with the cylinder spinning around the floor like a whirling dervish. 

Daisy returned a moment later and climbed the ladder. 'All done.' She stepped aside and pulled the trapdoor back down, stomping on it to seat it properly in place. She turned a beaming smile on Blair then waved her hands in a shooing motion. 'Go, go. I can manage from here.' 

Though she'd only been on the job three weeks, she'd already garnered Blair's respect for her intelligence and ability to adapt quickly. And in a bar like this, perched on a cliff overlooking one of the country's best surf beaches, it was certainly good for business to have a six foot tall, blonde bombshell surfer girl working behind the bar. 

'Okay.' Blair nodded, moving to the beach end of the bar and looking out the French windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. They were all open, making it look like there was no barrier between the bar and the sea, allowing salty morning air to drift in. 'It probably won't be very busy until lunch time, and Dean'll be here by then.' Dean was the cook, fifty-two going on sixteen, and utterly besotted with the entire surfer's lifestyle - though he'd only been in Encinitas, CA. for a year or so. 

The view from the bar, as always, took his breath away. Dougall's Bar sat on the top of the protruding cliff overlooking Swami's Beach, repeatedly voted one of the top ten surfing beaches in the country. The bar was about fifty years old, a U-shaped wooden building with the bar on one side and the kitchen on the other. From where he stood, the small, open-air garden was littered with empty white iron tables and chairs (solid and heavy to avoid being blown away by the occasional on shore breeze). Beyond that was the rather incongruous low white-picket fence marking the clear boundary of the bar's land - marked clearly so that patrons would be better able to obey the bar's strictly enforced drug-free zone inside. On the other side of the fence was a stretch of scrappy grass and wind-flattened bushes - and then, nothing. 

The cliff dropped a hundred feet to the beach, which was reached only by virtue of the wooden staircase which stood outside Dougall's. The beach itself, a pristine vision of long flat golden sand and slow, sauntering surf, was a sight he enjoyed at any time of the day or night. 

This morning however, there were clouds building up over the Pacific and the waves rolling in looked to be six to nine feet. A good surf day - which meant the Bar would stay quiet all morning until the dozens of surfers currently only specs out in the water finally exhausted themselves and turned up around midday to refuel with large bowls of pasta, baked potatoes and huge bread rolls filled with salad. When he'd taken over as manager, Blair had sat down with Dean and redesigned the menu - replacing a rather grim collection of fries, burgers and greasy chicken with food more in keeping with an athlete's need for solid carbs. The result had been an overwhelming success. Their lunchtime business had quadrupled, forcing him to take on another staff member just to keep up. 

'Are you going, or are you gonna stand there and stare at the view all morning. I thought you said you had a new student today.' 

'Um, yeah, I do.' Blair took a last look at the view and turned back to pick up his satchel. On his way out the door, he paused. 'Need anything while I'm in town?' 

Daisy popped up from behind the bar with a grin, flashing brilliant white teeth. 'Sure. Mars Bar'd be great.' 

'Yeah?' Blair raised an eyebrow. 'How many?' 

'Four.' 

Chuckling, Blair waved. 'You got it.' He headed outside marveling to himself how anyone as physically perfect as Daisy could possibly get away with eating between two and six Mars Bars almost every day. Of course, the fact that she spent almost the same number of hours a day surfing probably helped, but that didn't make it fair. 

He unlocked the shed and pulled out his bicycle. Mounting up, he rode down the narrow paved lane until he reached the road, then turned left, heading into Encinitas. It was a nice ride, and one which he enjoyed at least three times a week. Currently, it was off season, so there wasn't too much in the way of day-tripper traffic up from San Diego, leaving him plenty of empty spaces on the roads in which to ride in safety. 

Half an hour of sun and warm breeze brought him to the door of the Encinitas Library. He parked his bike, locked it up and walked inside. 

'Morning, Blair,' Rollo, the head librarian murmured as he breezed by. 'Cubicle three. Mr. Leondis. And you're late.' 

'Don't I get time to grab a coffee?' Blair deliberately poured every ounce of feebleness he could into his voice, grinning when Rollo immediately glanced up, concern filling his dark features. 

'Oh, go on,' Rollo relented. 'I'll bring you one in a minute, as soon as Stephanie gets back.' 

'Thanks,' Blair grinned, then headed down the back to cubicle three. The walls of the cubicle were soundproofed enough to prevent the sound of his voice from disturbing the rest of the library patrons. Inside was a small table and two chairs, one of which was currently being filled by a large, middle-aged man of Mediterranean extraction. Blair held out his hand. 'Mr. Leondis?' 

'Yeah, that's me.' 

'Blair Sandburg. It's great to meet you.' Blair sat, rummaging in his satchel for his notepad and a slim workbook. He laid both out on the table, fished out a pen and turned his attention to the man in front of him. Mr. Leondis was looking very uncomfortable, twisting his hands together and glancing over his shoulder now and then as though he was afraid of being seen. 'Um, we can do this some place else if you like. We don't _have_ to work in the library.' 

'Really?' Mr. Leondis looked up, thick eyebrows raised with a little hope. 

'Sure. It's up to you. It's important you feel comfortable while you work. Trust me, I understand how tough it is for somebody your age to make the first step towards learning how to read. There's no need to make it any more difficult than it is.' 

The older man gazed at him a moment, then looked down at his hands. 'No, I think this'll be just fine. It's just a little, well, you know... a man my age should know how to read, right?' 

'Of course,' Blair nodded, smiling a little, 'but you need to constantly remind yourself that you're here now because the education system failed _you_ \- not the other way around. That's why you were sent to school in the first place. I can only admire your courage in coming here now, after all these years, determined to change your situation. And we'll do that together, Mr. Leondis. I promise you, we'll have you reading basic words inside a week.' 

'Really? And call me Jim.' 

Blair almost faltered at that, but blinked it away and nodded, notching his smile up another peg or two. 'Really, we will, Jim. So, ready to start work?' 

Jim waved his hand, his eyes twinkling with laughter, 'Let the healing begin.' 

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity, as he picked up a few groceries, bought a whole box of Mars Bars - which he would dole out to Daisy a handful at a time - and picked up the newspapers. With his bike overloaded, the ride back to Dougall's took a little more effort, but the exercise felt great with the wind in his hair. 

He got back in time to dive straight into the lunch-time rush. It was well past four before he finally got to sit down and have a cup of tea without it first going cold. Daisy had finished up for the day by then, leaving Dean in the kitchen to get the dinner meals prepared. Blair spent an hour on the phone placing orders, and another hour on paperwork before the first of the evening customers began to filter through the doors. 

This was a different crowd from the daytime traffic. Though there were still some surfers coming in for a meal, mostly it was townsfolk out for the night, enjoying the atmosphere and the sunset over the still-choppy ocean. He worked behind the bar, serving drinks mainly, but trouble-shooting any problem that arose with the evening staff, or the kitchen help. And before he was really ready for it, it was 10pm. The long windows were closed against the night chill, the parents with young families had gone home to relieve their baby-sitters, the surfers had retired exhausted to their beds leaving only a few quiet couples at their tables, lingering over coffee or a last beer. 

It was like this every day - which was one of the things he liked most about working at Dougall's. He could be productive, enthusiastic, make changes, work hard, and fall into bed exhausted at the end of the day without having any time left over to ponder and worry. 

Only tonight, circumstances conspired against him. Circumstances he hadn't even noticed until he'd bought the papers and realized what date it was. April 9 - exactly one year since he'd left Cascade. 

With a last check on the kitchen, he sent Dean and the others home. He could handle the rest on his own, and he actually preferred to finish the night's work without interruption. He made sure the remaining customers were okay for drinks, then took a seat at the table he kept empty in the corner under the stairs to his apartment. Determined not to lose focus, despite the date, he pulled out the rest of his orders, and began going through them, checking off against delivery dockets. 

He'd forgotten. A year, twelve whole months and he'd forgotten. How had he managed that? Considering the state he'd arrived here in, what must be seven months ago now, it shocked him to think that he'd attached himself to this life so utterly and completely that a day like this could begin and almost end without him realizing. 

But the question was, did he _want_ to realize? Was he ready for those thoughts, those memories? Could he now touch on them and remain apart from the pain, the agony and the insanity? Or would they only destroy him again, as they had nearly done before so many times. 

But he couldn't help it. Couldn't stop the memory of Jim's face rising to him now, in the quiet of the near-empty bar. What was Jim doing now, right at this moment? Did he still miss Blair? Was he still waiting for Blair to come back? Did he even _want_ Blair back now? 

And the worst one of all - did Jim realize they were both better off apart? 

Blair swallowed hard and tried to force his gaze back on the papers in his hand. He couldn't ask that question, not even of himself because he still couldn't make himself feel the truth of it. And if _he_ couldn't feel it, why would Jim? 

Why would Jim even care, one way or the other? As far as he was concerned, Blair was gone, no longer living under his stairs, no longer nagging him about one sentinel-related thing after another. No longer getting in the way during shoot-outs or risking his life with too-revealing books on sentinels in modern society. 

No longer asking awkward questions about his sexuality. 

No, maybe he didn't believe yet that _he_ was better off without Jim - but Jim was sure as hell better off without _him_. 

And if that was the case, then was it now time for him to call? Was he ready to put himself on the line and just call? Could he call and survive it? 

He closed his eyes a moment, shutting out the soft music and gentle hum of voice in the background, and tried to remember what Jim's voice sounded like. It came to him slowly, a soft caress, like a lover's touch, dusting over his still-bruised soul. 

The longing was there, still. Deep within him, a banked fire that by now should have died down, or failed completely - but after a year, he knew it would never go away. The one thing he knew above all else was that Jim was the love of his life. How could he expect such a feeling to die after only a single year? The only thing that had died was the intensity of his desperation, his burning need to punish himself, his compulsion to keep running and running as though he could leave himself behind. 

He'd been so strong. Ending up here after his long bus ride west, using the time to meditate as often as possible, working to rid himself of the anger, the frustration, the desperation, trying to replace it with honesty, kindness and generosity. Trying to see himself without reproach, trying not to blame himself for the destruction of his life. 

His efforts had at first taken him to the Self-Realization Fellowship Ashram that graced the southern end of this cliff. He'd taken a few classes there, gone to daily meditation sessions and generally worked his butt off to claw his way, kicking and screaming, out of the hole he'd dug for himself. 

It had taken months. For a long time, he'd thought it wasn't working at all, until one day, walking along Swami's beach, he'd found himself watching the graceful twists and turns of the surfers and realized he was no longer wallowing in his agony, that he could watch something like that with a clear heart. 

Though he'd suffered minor setbacks since, that had really been the turning point. He'd already been working at Dougall's behind the bar, but the owner, Jack D had just sacked the previous manager for stealing under the counter. In a moment of unbelievable daring, Blair had volunteered, talking himself into the job so swiftly, he left himself feeling dizzy. 

But Jack had decided to give him a go - and it had all been plain sailing from there. Jack called once a month to check up on his progress, but for the most part now left him to it. And while Blair knew he wasn't exactly happy here, he could also say with some degree of honesty, that he wasn't *un*happy either. He was content - which was a huge step forward from where he was a year ago. There were even days when he could see happiness lurking in the corners. 

'Hey, sorry, kid, but could I get another drink here?' 

Blair looked up to see the guy sitting at the bar waving an empty glass in his direction. 'Sure.' Blair rose quickly and stepped around the bar. 'What was it again?' 

'Jim Beam, double, straight up.' 

'Jim Beam it is.' Blair picked up a clean glass and poured a double for the man. 

'Have one yourself.' 

'Thanks, I'll have a Coke.' 

'You don't drink?' 

'Not really and never at work.' Blair took the man's money and rang the transaction up on the till, turning back to give the man his change, while retaining the distinct feeling his ass had just been given a serious checking out. He took out a glass and opened a can of icy Coke, pouring it with a flourish that made him smile inside. 

After that night before his flight west, when he'd allowed those men to use his body, he'd determined to remain celibate. Not permanently, exactly, but for a while. For as long as it took for him to work out what the hell he wanted. Of course, it hadn't been easy, and there'd been plenty of dates with his own right hand, but ultimately, it had been worth it. Living as he had been, in a world of confusion, the last thing he'd needed was an excuse to add to it. 

So getting checked out by this guy was actually kinda nice, though the man himself seemed utterly clueless. 

Before he could say anything, the last two couples stood up from their tables and left, waving a thanks to him as they shut the door. Giving the guy before him a brief smile, he headed around the bar to clean up the tables, putting the empty glasses on the bar ready for washing. He began to talk then, keeping his tone light and easy. 

'I've seen you in here a couple of times this week - but you're not from around here, are you?' 

'Nope, I'm from LA. Down for a few weeks... well, I guess you could call it a vacation.' 

'You staying in town?' 

'No, a guesthouse about ten minutes from here.' 

'Sheffy's?' 

'Yeah.' 

'It's nice there. They do a great breakfast.' Blair finished cleaning and came back around the bar to put the glasses in the washer. He switched it on, then pulled up a stool and sat, paying a little more attention to the man sitting opposite him. 

He was tall, and quite a bit older than Blair - maybe forty-five going on fifty. His hair, once black, was now peppered with grey, but his brows were straight, his eyes a warm shade of brown and his body a little tanned but obviously fit. 

To cover his examination, Blair cocked his head to one side and asked, 'You guess I could call it a vacation?' 

The man smiled a little, ducking his head shyly. 'Yeah, well, I er, just split up with my wife. Married twenty-two years.' 

'Wow,' Blair's eyebrows rose. That certainly explained the cluelessness of the guy's gaze. 'I'm sorry. Is the split a good thing or a bad thing?' 

He was rewarded with another shy smile as the man glanced away, 'Mostly good.' 

'Though I guess tonight, you're thinking about the bad, right?' 

The man paused a moment, then nodded, taking a sip of his bourbon before darting a glance up at Blair's face. 'Years of working behind a bar teaches you to read people, huh, kid?' 

Blair could only laugh at that, 'Yeah, something like that.' 

With a grunt, the man held out his hand, 'The name's Dutch.' 

Blair took it and shook, 'Blair. And I'm not exactly a kid. I turned thirty a couple months ago.' 

Dutch's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Really? Well, you look like a kid. Take my advice and make the most of it while you can. It's amazing how quickly age creeps up on you.' 

'Well,' Blair murmured, his voice lower, 'you're not exactly old and wrinkly.' 

That forced a laugh from the older man, 'Not on the outside maybe.' 

The glass washer pinged at that moment, and Blair took the time to pull the tray out and set it to dry, switching the kitchen lights off as he moved around. 

What was he doing here, exactly? Was he trying to pick up this guy? This _straight_ guy? Did he really want this or was he just reacting to the day's date and would he find himself in the morning, sore and worn out from yet another catastrophic mistake? 

'I guess I should get going and leave you to it.' Dutch murmured as Blair came back to the bar - and in that moment, Blair made up his mind. 

This wasn't some reactionary thing. This man was attractive, and nice, and Blair, having been celibate all this time, really just needed a little company. So did Dutch. There didn't have to be any sex involved. It was certain Dutch wouldn't make a move on him, so the decision could remain entirely Blair's - and the confidence that realization gave him was enough to put another, genuine smile on his face. 

'Nah, don't worry about it. I live upstairs. Don't have any place to be. Unless you have to rush off?' 

'Me? I gave up rushing off when I left my wife.' 

Blair regained his seat and reached back for the bourbon bottle, topping up Dutch's glass just a little, to show he was welcome to sit as long as he liked. In reply, Dutch raised his glass to which Blair clinked his, a token of mutual agreement. 

'So, you got any kids?' 

'Yeah, three. Two boys and a girl. All at college now, of course. We had them pretty young. People don't do that so much nowadays but back then, it seemed like the best way to play it. Mind you, that early on in a man's career makes it difficult to pay the bills. Still, I guess if we'd left it longer, we wouldn't have had kids at all - and I wouldn't swap them for anything.' 

Dutch obviously wanted to talk, and Blair, so long disconnected from real life, actually wanted to listen. 'So the marriage breakup was a long time coming?' 

Dutch pursed his lips. 'I guess you could say that.' He paused, letting the silence grow. 'Truth is, maybe I shouldn't have gotten married in the first place.' 

Blair said nothing. Such an admission from a man Dutch's age took a lot of courage. 

'She ... she said I couldn't give her what she needed. She was right.' Dutch stared into his glass for a while, then upended it, draining a whole shot in one go. Blair moved to refill it, but Dutch wasn't out to get drunk. 'Things were different back then. Getting married was what you did. You couldn't live together without your parents and boss throwing a fit and well, anything else was out of the question.' 

'Anything else?' Blair breathed. 

Dutch looked up then, his gaze a little fearful, but searching as though he were deciding what he could say and what he couldn't. 'Yeah,' he appended, 'other ... things.' 

Abruptly, Blair's heart began to hammer in his chest. Somehow his subconscious must have known what he was about to say since his conscious mind didn't have a clue until the words slid out of him. 'And she couldn't give you what you needed, either, could she?' 

Dutch continued to stare at him, and as Blair watched, that steady, honey brown gaze slid down to dust over Blair's lips. 

A familiar and delightful twist in his gut spread warmth through his entire body. But he didn't say anything as Dutch's eyes rose again, met his, then abruptly looked away. 

'I'm... sorry... I don't know what the hell I'm doing here.' 

'That's okay,' Blair murmured softly. 'There's a first time for everyone.' 

It might have been exactly the wrong thing to say, but Dutch didn't move from his stool, didn't get up and walk out or even tell Blair to back off. Instead, he gripped his glass between his hands so hard his knuckles went white. 'Is that... what I'm looking for? My first time?' 

'What do you think?' 

Dutch took a moment then, his gaze rising slowly to meet Blair's in an act of determined bravery. 'Yeah, I think it is.' 

Blair smiled a little, shrugging with one shoulder. 'It's important to know what you need, to understand it. You can't live your whole life pretending to be something you're not. Even if you can't have what you need, understanding it can sometimes be enough.' 

'And what if... what if you're too afraid to ask for what you need?' 

It was Blair's turn to look away, memories swirling over him, making him blind to the Bar, to Dutch, to every moment of his life over the last year. Suddenly, he was back at the loft, in Cascade, sitting on the couch with Jim, arms wrapped around each other, his emotions twisted and maimed, his soul hurting and taking more hurt with each mistaken kiss. 'There's no such thing as a life lived entirely without fear. I think... learning to live with the fear is the best thing we can do.' 

'And what are you afraid of?' 

With the tables suddenly turned on him, Blair shrugged, toying with his glass. 'I don't think I know any more. The things that used to scare me seem trivial now, and things that never bothered me now stop me in my tracks.' 

'Things like?' 

'Calling your best friend to see how he is.' Blair looked away, his gaze halted only by the darkness beyond the windows. 'Facing up to mistakes I've made, trying to find solutions. Just, you know, life stuff. What about you? What are you afraid to ask for?' 

The words sounded casual, but when he met Dutch's gaze, he knew that something unspoken was in the air between them. He had a choice here, to take it or leave it but for the first time in so long he could hardly remember, he didn't want to leave it. He wanted to grasp it with both hands. 

When Dutch didn't answer, Blair got off his stool, put his toes on the bottom edge of the bar and leaned over towards the older man, moving slowly, until he could press his lips against those of his new friend. 

He really had no way of knowing how the other man would respond, but it didn't surprise him when Dutch leaned into the kiss, opening up to his questing tongue, wrapping a hand around the back of Blair's neck to get a better angle. 

The kiss lasted long, delicious moments before they broke apart for air. Dutch reluctantly let him go, blushing a little as his gaze plummeted to his glass once more. But Blair, charmed to his core, wasn't about to let him retreat like that. 'Is that what you need, Dutch?' 

The older man said nothing immediately, but after a moment, he nodded, his gaze rising to meet Blair's again. 'Yeah. I just ... I don't have any idea what I'm...' 

Blair reached out and cupped the man's face, leaning forward for another kiss full of heat and life. This time Dutch took a little control, a deep-throated moan emerging into the wet silence. When they parted, Blair didn't pull back, but instead, whispered softly, letting the warmth of his breath seduce the man a little. 'Would you like to go to bed with me?' 

'Yes, yes, I would,' Dutch nodded, pressing a thumb against Blair's bottom lip. 'Is that what you want?' 

Was it? Did Blair really want to go to bed with this man he'd just met? A man he'd felt an undeniable connection with? 

Brown eyes studied his as he considered his answer. It wasn't such a tough question really. 'Yeah, I'd love to go to bed with you.' 

There was a little fear in Dutch's eyes, but it was quickly overwhelmed with blatantly obvious desire. 'You understand I've never ... with a man...' 

'Relax, Dutch. Sit there and finish your drink while I lock up.' 

* * *

'Oh, god!' Blair moaned as Dutch slid into him. He lay on his back, his legs held open and wide, his cock leaking, painfully hard, his breaths coming in pants as his body struggled to accommodate the invader. It had been so long since he'd had a man moving inside him and the shock alone almost made him come. 

'Is this okay?' Dutch grunted, his own breathing ragged with the newness of the sex he was experiencing. He came to a halt, fully sheathed in Blair's passage, his gaze searching Blair's, hoping for the right answer. 

'Yeah, it's okay. It's perfect,' Blair replied, lying, knowing full well the only thing that would make it perfect was the one thing he could never have, so he was determined that this would do in its place. 'You can move if you want. Fuck me.' 

'Oh, Jesus!' Dutch began to slide out again, holding his weight on his arms, his body straining to keep the pace slow, as though he wanted it to last. 

Blair moved with him, the force of the thrusts rocking him back and forth in the bed, making the bed bang softly against the wall. Dear god but it felt so good, so wonderful to be filled like this again, to have a beautiful man pushing into him, taking and giving the pleasure of anal intercourse. 

Dutch had begun so tentatively when they'd first come into the bedroom, seemingly happy at first to simply touch and look at Blair's body, allowing himself the luxury of doing this with a man for the first time. But when Blair had gone down on him, the man's hidden passion had exploded forth and he had come with a rush of hot semen shooting down Blair's throat. He'd then insisted on returning the favor, letting Blair teach him how to suck, how to lick, how to make a man's cock ache with pleasure. Blair had needed to add his own hand that first time, in order to come, but the look on Dutch's face when he had, had been more than worth it. 

And later, after they'd aroused each other again with more kisses and touches, Dutch gaining confidence with each moment, Blair had offered his ass to the man. Dutch had shuddered with desire, begging to be allowed to open and prepare Blair, to feel the inside of him with his own fingers, and finally, to open him with his cock. 

'Yes,' Blair hissed, throwing his head back and wrapping his legs around the man's waist. The first time he'd had sex with a man, he'd topped and loved it. It had taken months for him to get the courage to take a cock up his ass - but the moment he had, he'd known deep in his soul that he was at heart a bottom. He still topped and he still loved it, but there was no feeling like this, nothing like it in the world, with either man or woman. 'Do me as hard as you want,' he grunted. 'You need this as much as I do.' 

'God, yes,' Dutch began to slam into him, leaning down to take his mouth for a kiss filled with tongue and heat. 'I never knew it would feel like this. You really like it? Taking a man's cock?' 

'I love it. Don't stop.' 

'No chance of that.' They both lost all words after that, as the pace intensified, filling the room with pants and grunts, moans of lust, sounds full of meaning and utterly devoid of anything but the present moment together. 

Blair couldn't stand it any longer, and reached down to stroke himself in time with each thrust. Dutch watched him for a moment, then shifted to do the work himself, angling his thrusts almost instinctively to push against Blair's sweet spot, making him shake and rattle, and then, before he could really capture the desire, he began to come, groaning so loudly the noise almost deafened him. Caught up in his climax, Dutch slammed into him again, his own orgasm tipping him over the edge as he let out a throaty moan buried in Blair's curls. 

It took so long to come down, Blair thought for a moment he'd actually passed out. But then Dutch carefully pulled out of him, disposing of the condom before landing on the bed beside him, eyes closed, breath still harsh in the silent night. 

'So,' Blair couldn't help himself, a wicked smile creasing his face. 'How was it? Worth the wait all these years?' 

'You have no idea,' Dutch grinned, then rolled over until he had Blair beneath him once again. He kissed him deeply, this time with tenderness rather than passion, and Blair took it as such. 'Thank you. You're a very beautiful young man.' 

'You're not so bad yourself,' Blair laughed, pulling him close. More kisses followed, but Blair could hardly keep his eyes open now and Dutch noticed his tiredness when he let out a huge yawn. 

'I think I should get going.' 

Blair opened his eyes to check Dutch wasn't just backing off. 'Sorry. Been a long day, and I have to get up early.' 

'How early?' 

'Six.' 

'I hate to say it, kid, but you've got enough time to get about half an hour's sleep.' 

Blair started, turning to look at the beside clock. 'Shit!' 

'I'll take that as a compliment.' 

'Bastard!' Blair laughed then settled down to gaze at the face of the first man he'd enjoyed in a long, long time. 'Was that what you needed?' 

'More than I imagined.' Dutch's expression sobered then and he pressed a soft kiss to Blair's forehead. 'You know I'm only here on holiday.' 

'Sure. It's okay, man, I'm not looking for love. Tonight was tonight. We both enjoyed it. It's free. Take it as it is and move on.' 

'Are you sure?' 

'Of course, if you wanted to come back for a repeat performance, I wouldn't say no, but other than that, like I said, it's free.' 

Dutch kissed him again, softly, then pulled away, climbing off the bed to find his clothes. 'I'd better get out of your hair and let you get what rest you can. If nothing else, I'll drop by tonight for a drink, okay?' 

'Great.' Blair laid where he was watching the older man pull his clothes on, and look around for his keys. When he found them, Blair got up and drew on his jeans. Then together he they went downstairs so Blair could let him out the back door of the Bar. 

Dutch pulled him close for a hug, pressing a final kiss to his lips. Then he looked Blair in the eye. 'Thank you for the best first time a man could have. I just hope one day you can find whatever it is your looking for.' With that he was gone. There was just enough pre-dawn light to illuminate his journey down the path, and then in the silence, Blair heard the unmistakable sounds of a car starting, and the reflection of lights against the distant trees. 

Shivering with the sudden cold, he locked up again and headed back to bed. It was too late to sleep, and he'd have to nap a little later on, but right now, he had something else to do, something that wouldn't wait for later. 

He tore off his jeans and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over him. He rolled onto his side, drew his knees up and watched the sky outside get lighter and lighter, as the day brewed fresh and new. 

It was time to finally let go. Time to stop thinking about Jim so much. Time to accept that things had changed, that there was no future in Cascade, either with Jim, or without. Tonight, he'd enjoyed himself with his first actual lover since he'd left, and he felt... better for it. Felt like he was facing this new day stronger than he had for a long time. 

Yeah, it was time. 

He could hear Daisy as she moved around downstairs getting things ready for the breakfast surfers. He would have to get up soon, shower and go down and help her - but he lingered, knowing he was best off doing this now, while he was fresh. 

With his hand shaking only a little, he sat up on the bed and picked up the phone. He dialed the number from memory and waited, his breath held as the line clicked and then began to ring. 

The seconds seemed interminable. It was early, yes, but not too early, he knew that only too well. And the machine didn't kick in, which meant it had been turned off, so Jim had to be home. 

And then another click and time stretched out until he heard the voice. 

'Er, hello?' 

A voice - but not _the_ voice. 

A man's voice. 

'Hello? Is anyone there?' 

For a second, Blair couldn't move - but then urgency flashed into him and he spoke. 'Um, sorry, I might have the wrong number. Is Jim there?' 

'Oh, sure,' the man's smile came through easily. 'Yeah, he's here, only he's just got into the shower. Can I give him a message? Tell him who called. He can call you back in about ten minutes.' 

Blair's brain refused to function. There was nothing there except a solitary blank wall. 

'Hello? Who's calling?' 

'Um, Blair... no, it doesn't matter.' His retreat was so hasty he almost burned himself. 'I was calling as a surprise. I'm an old friend of Jim's. Been out of touch and thought I'd surprise him. Please, don't say anything to him and I'll call him later, thanks anyway.' 

He hung up so fast he sprained his thumb on the button. 

That wasn't Steven. It also wasn't any of the guys from the PD. The voice was young, maybe younger than Blair. But most of all, it was male. Very, very male. What straight man, in his right mind, would have a young man in his apartment at ... 6.10am, unless said young man had in fact just spent the night? A young man who felt comfortable and confident enough in said straight man's apartment that he could answer the phone while his host took a shower. 

There were a few other possible explanations but as Blair lifted each one up to the light, it disappeared, unable to hold anything even that frail. 

The conclusion he was left with brought him no tears of anguish, garnered in him no anger. Instead, it simply filled him with a deep well of regret. Jim now slept with men. Turned out he was into guys after all. Turned out, he might well have been into Blair too - only Blair hadn't stuck around long enough to find out. 

And now it was too late. Jim might still think of him now and then, but Jim, with his astonishing courage and infinite patience, had managed something Blair, in his quest for identity, still struggled with even today: Jim had moved on. Jim had moved on and left Blair behind. 

And it had only taken one, short, interminable year. 

End Part Four  
Continued in Without Fear Part 5 

* * *

* * *

End Without Fear 4 by Scala: scala8925@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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